


once more (with feeling)

by juxtapose



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-STID. Kirk and Spock are unsure about their relationship. Spock Prime decides it's his final destiny to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	once more (with feeling)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to firstly thank Danielle (EverdeenFrayPotter) for always looking over my pieces before I post them. She's really the reason I post anything, because she always gives me that encouraging push.
> 
> Second off, this started out as a headcanon and just . . . spiraled downward after that. I'm trying to be as accurate as possible with my knowledge of Trek lore, etc, so if I mess up--let me know. I'm new to fandom. XD
> 
> For those of you who haven't seen the Season 3 Star Trek TNG episode "Sarek" I'll provide some terminology for ya:  
>  **Bendii Syndrome** : A disease that affects elderly Vulcans, not unlike Alzheimer's. In TNG, Sarek has developed this disease and causes the rest of the ship to experience intense emotion because he is losing control of his logic/ability to keep his emotions at bay.  
>  **katra** : The essence of a Vulcan's mind/soul that can be transferred between beings. In the original Star Trek films Spock preserves his katra through McCoy and Kirk.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except the Spirk feelings I'm drowning in.

When he opens his eyes, his face is wet.

Memories fade in and out of his consciousness, the emotions encompassed within them blaring bright, making his head ache and his heart swell.

It will soon be time, for all things end; all things die. It is only logical.

He knows what he must do before the darkness comes.

* * *

“Captain, we’re receiving communication from High Councilman Sehlet on New Vulcan.”

Jim Kirk quirks an eyebrow, turning in his chair to face Lieutenant Uhura at her station. “New Vulcan? Really?” She nods in confirmation, and Jim tilts his head so out of the corner of his eye he can see Spock stand up straight with interest at his post.

He figures Spock’s thinking the same thing he is: what’s happening on New Vulcan for which an ambassador would have to publicly contact the USS _Enterprise_ when they’re a week away from the planet at highest warp speed?

Then again, he and Spock haven’t been seeing eye-to-eye on much of anything lately, so it’s hard to tell.

“Open frequencies onscreen,” he commands. A beat goes by for Uhura to transfer communication capabilities bridge-wide, and soon enough Jim finds himself standing in greeting for the councilman, a short, lanky Vulcan donning traditional garb. “Councilman Sehlet. Hello. What can we do ya for?”

“Greetings, Captain James Kirk. I thank you for receiving my call.” Sehlet clasps his hands behind his back. Jim casts a quick glance across the screen. The scenery is familiar to Jim. He has kept in touch with Spock’s elder counterpart regularly enough that he recognizes Sehlet to be standing in Ambassador Spock’s professional quarters; there is a desk behind him and a few items of decor. “I am speaking with you on behalf of Ambassador Spock.”

“I thought you might be,” replies Jim, “Is there anything we can do for you? We’re on-course for Starbase 7 right now to drop off some materials, but--”

“Forgive me, Captain,” Sehlet interjects solemnly, “but I do not have much time. Ambassador Spock is dying.”

Jim remembers his older brother explaining to him once the meaning of the old Earth phrase, “you could hear a pindrop in the room” when he was a kid. The saying could not be more fitting now, as the entire bridge crew have fallen almost completely silent. He hears the slow, even steps indicating Spock coming up to stand next to him behind the helm.

“I...I’m sorry to hear that,” and it’s all Jim can do not to ask for any details, to ask how long Ambassador Spock has before he . . . it would be unprofessional to discuss, for a captain of a starship surrounded by his crew, and most certainly for a Vulcan.

“The Bendii Syndrome is taking its toll on the Ambassador, and as such I have been appointed to relieve him of his duties here in our continuous mission of Vulcan repopulation and cultural preservation. He has made only one request, in the form of an express wish to speak with your First Officer in person.”

The silence is broken only by everyone shifting in their seats or at their stations to stare at Spock, who looks no less stoic than usual. Sehlet goes on: “It would be quite understandable, Captain, if it is an inconvenience for you to change course at this time. My duty is only to communicate Ambassador Spock’s request to you, and to Commander Spock.”

The truth is, Jim knows (and knows his whole crew knows), it _would_ be an inconvenience. Sulu had estimated the arrival at Starbase 7 to be only hours away now.

But if it hadn’t been for the Spock who’s dying on New Vulcan, the Spock who stands next to him now probably wouldn’t even be here.

He looks over at Spock, who, despite his blank expression, has eyes that Jim is slowly learning to read better than any language he ever studied at the Academy. _The decision is yours, Captain._

“Lieutenant Sulu,” Kirk says, “How long til we reach New Vulcan if we head there now, at, say, warp 6.5?”

Sulu punches in a few calculations at the helm before replying, “Four days; five at most, Captain.”

“Okay. Plot the course.” He meets eyes with Sehlet once more. “Tell Ambassador Spock we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

* * *

Jim’s first words to Spock when they return to the captain’s quarters after alpha shift are, “So you know I’m coming with you, right?”

He watches Spock idly finger a loose thread on the cotton bedsheets--and odd gesture, considering Spock rarely ever needed something to occupy his mind outside of his own constantly working thoughts. “It is illogical to change course given the close proximity of the _Enterprise_ to Starbase 7’s orbit,” he retorts flatly.

Jim narrows his eyes, walking over to flop down on the bed, blatantly invading Spock’s space because that’s what he has to do to get his attention these days. “Hey, I don’t know if this occurred to you earlier, but alternate-future- _whatever_ -you is _dying_. And he wants to see _you_. That’s kind of a big deal--”

“I am aware of the situation, Jim--”

“--So I’m coming with you, because I’d like to pay my respects, and also I figured you’d want, y’know . . . some support?”

Spock tilts his head to the side. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“Ugh, yes you do.” Jim runs a hand over his face, feeling like all his conversations with Spock lately have been the same one, on never-ending loop. “Can’t you just admit for once that there are _feelings_ involved in this? Unavoidable, nasty little _feelings_ that give you creepy-crawlies that you can’t escape and--”

“--‘Creepy-crawlies’, Jim?--”

“--And that you just need someone to _help you through_ them? There’s logic in that, right?”

“There is not.”

“For fuck’s sake, Spock!” Jim sits up, sighing loudly. Spock blinks at him, and this is one of those moments where Jim _almost_ thinks this person--this person he kinda sorta loves--genuinely has no comprehension of what he’s trying to say.

But Jim knows he does. He can read those eyes. “You _do_ get what I’m talking about. I saw it. When you were in the radiation chamber and I was . . . You feel more strongly than . . . than any human I know, really.” Jim fully admits that touchy-feely moments make him just a tad uncomfortable, and most of the time, he can do without them. But when it comes to Spock, he endeavors each day for him to know. That to feel is not to be weak, it is to be human (a lesson Jim likes to think they both have been taught in their journey together so far), and all Spock can say in reply is:

“Jim, I would not go so far as to insult me.”

Jim responds as if he’s been pushed off the bed, stumbling back and beginning to pace. “ _Insult_ you? You--I--you are _infuriating_ , you know that? I’m really sick of this, Spock. Five months we’ve been trying to--”

Spock interrupts Jim’s rampage only to correct, “Five point eight-nine.”

“Christ.” Jim pinches the bridge of his nose for a fraction of a second in exasperation. “For _five point eight-nine_ months we’ve been trying to figure each other out, take things slow, and that’s all fine because I figured out serving on this ship with you for the past few years that I’m willing to do that. For you. Because you . . .” He trails off, afraid of what his erratic state might reveal. “Anyway, the point is, we’re getting nowhere. You realize that, right? I do something irrational, you call me out on it--and then you turn around and do the same thing. Life isn’t all about logic, Spock!”

“For my people, it is,” is Spock’s even reply, “And I would remind you, Captain--”

“--Oh, we’re back to ‘Captain’ now, perfect--”

“--that I made it very clear pursuing our relationship would not be logical. I have been aware of this fact for the duration of our courtship. You are the captain of the _Enterprise_ and I am its first officer; to begin with we have not had our relations confirmed or approved by Starfleet Command. On a more personal level, though our compatibility levels have increased in the last ten point four months, we are not--”

“Don’t.” Jim is suddenly very, very weary. “I’m real glad you can recall everything that’s wrong with us, Spock. But I thought maybe we’d overcome all that. Y’know. Show fate and the galaxy who’s boss?” He can’t help but smile a little at the notion. “Maybe we should just give up on this altogether. I’m . . . I’m going for a walk. Check on Scotty down at engineering. Or something. Don’t wait up. You won’t, will you?”

He doesn’t receive an answer. He hadn’t expected one, anyway.

When he returns to his quarters later on, Spock is not there.

He hadn’t expected him to be, anyway. Jim falls asleep alone, and thinks how he couldn’t remember the sensation of a cold bed before now.

* * *

In the mess hall a few days later, Uhura says, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“As always, Lieutenant.” Jim throws a wink across the table. She doesn’t roll her eyes like usual--her stare is hardened, locked onto Jim’s face with intensity.

“Spock’s sad. What did you do to him?”

He almost spits out his whatever-it-is that’s supposed to resemble a chicken salad sandwich (replicator food is all kinds of sketchy), and gapes at her. “Sorry, what--”

“I _know_ him, and I know he’s acting off. Only you can make him look like a kicked puppy, so whatever you did, fix it.” With that, she stands up, tray of food in hand and stomps away.

Jim buries his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh. He’d barely spoken to Spock in the last twenty-four hours--it’s no wonder he’d been clueless that Spock is apparently so caught up in what had transpired between them the night before.

A vicious cycle, that Vulcan had him spinning in. He thought he’d learned to read Spock well, or at least was on his way to achieving the goal.

Jim isn’t hungry anymore, and thinks how it’s gonna be one hell of a long few days until they reach New Vulcan’s orbit.

* * *

“Jim, for the last time: there’s nothin’ I can do.”

Despite the latter’s words of protest, Jim Kirk is all but dragging CMO Leonard McCoy to the transporter room. “Well, maybe you can just . . . take a look at him or something. C’mon; hurry up, Scotty already has everything ready--”

“ _Jim._ ” McCoy clasps Jim’s arm, causing them both to halt in their step. “You said the Ambassador’s dying of Bendii Syndrome.”

“But what if it’s something else?” counters Jim, “You said he’s too young to have Bendii Syndrome.”

“Not by much, Jim. 155 years of living is bound to do something to ya if you’re only half-Vulcan. I told you--it’s not somethin’ I can fix. I wish it were. The disease is slow-moving, but when it hits, it _hits hard_ and there ain’t any way to stop it. Takes over a Vulcan just like _that_ \--” He snaps his fingers for emphasis. “--and little by little their emotional control goes haywire. It’s like . . . the Vulcan equivalent of Alzheimer’s.”

“Yeah, but we _cured_ Alzheimer’s, Bones, so why can’t--”

“There’s somethin’ else going on here, isn’t there?” McCoy lets go of his death-grip on Jim’s arm to cross his over his chest. He lets out an irritated growl when Jim turns on his heel upon being released and charges to the transporter. “I’ve explained all this to you enough times that I’m knockin’ you over the damn head with it. I know you’re not stupid, Jim, at least not for the most part--”

“--I can fire you, y’know--”

“And I’m all for coming with ya for moral support or whatever the hell, but--” He cuts himself off as Jim steps onto the transporter device beside Spock, saying not a single word to the Vulcan beside him. Jim crosses his arms defensively, staring straight ahead, and Spock spares a glance at the captain before quickly averting his eyes to the ground.

Bones slowly makes his way onto the platform on the other side of Kirk, shaking his head in realization. “I’ll be goddamned,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes, “You’re _third-wheeling_ me because you and your boyfriend are in a spat, aren’t you? Who am I, Dr. Phil?”

At Jim’s puzzled expression, Bones sighs. “Old Terran television reference. Geez, didn’t you pay _any_ attention in our sociology course at the Academy? So help me, if I have to act as a go-between for you and the hobgoblin I’m gonna--”

“Scotty, we’re ready. Beam us down,” Jim orders, blatantly ignoring McCoy’s mumblings of, ‘goddamn teenage girls’ and ‘swear a Romulan and a Klingon could communicate better than these two idiots...’

* * *

When they arrive on New Vulcan, they are immediately directed to Ambassador Spock’s residence. As they walk, Jim absently digs the tip of his boot into the ground and kicks up a little sand, listening to the conversation around him:

“How about it, Spock? Nice to be home?” McCoy is desperately trying to make conversation between the bouts of immensely awkward quiet amongst of the three of them. Jim is sort of grateful for it--despite everything happening between himself and Spock, Bones is just _Bones_ , a sturdy, unchanging presence for his whirlwind mind to focus on.

He hears Spock say, “It is interesting to observe the rate at which New Vulcan is growing, despite the decimation of the planet and its aftermath.” In other words, Jim thinks, _it’s not really home, but it’s trying_.

The Ambassador’s place is spacious, featuring many large windows to let in the sun. And the moon, Jim supposes. _The planet Vulcan had no moons_ , he remembers Spock telling him softly under the sheets one night, _I had not seen one until I entered Starfleet Academy._

 _I’ll take you to all of them,_ Jim had promised. Spock had said he was being illogical. Jim had kissed his nose.

Buried deep in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized they had arrived at the front door. He stares at his shoes, feels Spock’s hot presence next to him. After a moment of more uncomfortable quiet, Bones lets out a theatrical sigh and knocks on the door. A young Vulcan woman answers, dark hair slicked back into a tight ponytail, and Jim is just about to introduce himself when:

“I am T’Lal. I look after the Ambassador in his present condition. He is expecting Commander Spock.” She eyes Jim and McCoy with what Jim decides means wariness in Vulcan, a slight narrowing of her brow. “I had not been informed of additional visitors--”

“Let them in, T’Lal,” interjects a familiar voice from inside, “James Kirk and Leonard McCoy are always welcome in my house.”

* * *

The first thing Jim processes upon entering the Ambassador’s quarters is _pain_.

Such sadness, and such pain. It sears through him like a blade, and he feels as if he is no longer in control of his body as he lurches forward, wrapping his arms around himself. He barely registers T’Lal brushing past him to tend to the Ambassador, can just make out the frames of Bones and Spock rushing to either side of him.

“What . . . what is . . . I’m . . .” The words jumble in his mind and tumble from his lips like an avalanche he cannot slow. Bones’ arms around his shoulders slowly make their way to the forefront of his senses, steadying him. The surge of feeling slowly but surely subsides, and that’s when Jim notices the warm (wonderful) sensation of Spock’s fingers lightly touching his left wrist.

The second thing Jim processes is Ambassador Spock, sitting in a chair facing the window, wearing long, plum-colored Vulcan robes. He does not break his gaze away from the view of the planet below.” Thank you, Commander Spock, for your assistance,” he says, “The effects of Bendii on humans are quite powerful.”

Voicing the words Jim still hadn’t quite the capacity to form yet, Bones says, “Just what the hell was that?”

It’s their Spock who answers: “Doctor McCoy, I take it your knowledge of Bendii Syndrome does not go beyond its effects on the Vulcan mind. Verily, it causes the Vulcan who has been diagnosed with the disease to gradually lose emotional control and concept of logic. What you may not have come across in your studies, however, is the research involved in the evidently extreme potency of Vulcan telepathy during this time. Ambassador Spock’s condition allows him to project the overwhelming emotion he is feeling onto the minds of others. I have acted as a mediator to shield the both of you from further experience of these effects.”

The Ambassador finally turns to acknowledge the group fully; he doesn’t look ill, Jim thinks, so much as tired. He stands shakily, with the help of T’Lal, making his way toward them. As he comes closer, Jim notices the little differences in appearance since he last communicated with the Ambassador--silver hair thinning into dull gray, piercing eyes lacking their usual knowing glint.

He nods to Spock. “I thank you for complying with my request, Mister Spock.” He turns to Bones and then--much to the utter shock of everyone in the room--smiles a little. “I do not recall that we have met in-person before, Doctor. It is . . . good to see you.” He doesn’t say anything to the effect of, ‘nice to make your acquaintance’ and they all know why--somewhere in another time and place, the Ambassador knew a Leonard McCoy made up of atoms of his own universe.

“It’s an honor, Ambassador,” McCoy says, smiling back, and the Ambassador reaches out and lightly touches his arm. An intimate, friendly gesture that is so drastically un-Vulcan that it throws Jim off-guard.

Or so he thinks, until the Ambassador looks at him, and it’s safe to say Jim is entirely thrown. There is unadulterated affection in the elder Spock’s eyes, and it comes through to the upward curve of his lips and in the light touch of his fingers cupping the side of Jim’s face, and the Vulcan’s eyes are glossing over with tears as he says hoarsely, “Jim...”

Jim feels as if his body is frozen in place. Spock-- _his_ Spock stiffens just slightly next to him, but Jim himself can’t move. There is so much written in the Ambassador’s expression, and Jim wants to _help_ , and he knows this is the disease stripping the Vulcan of every ounce of control he has left and it wrenches at his insides, tears at his heart . . .

“You are him,” the Ambassador utters each word shakily, as if it causes him anguish, “And yet you are not. So much of you is everything he was, what he might have been if . . .” An expression passes over his face that Jim recognizes to be surprise--awe of his own actions--and he quickly pulls his hand away from Jim’s face. He blinks a few times to allow his eyes to regain focus. “I . . . I apologize. I was not expecting you.”

Kirk smiles a little in a combination of reassurance, and the relief that the intensity of the moment has passed. “Sorry I dropped in on you, but I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to come down and say hello while we’re in orbit. And, y’know, maybe grill you on what my future looks like and if those really uncomfortable regulation trousers ever go out of style . . .”

Jokes are usually lost on Vulcans in Jim’s experience, but not on this one. The Ambassador’s lips quirk up at the edges just slightly.

T’Lal doesn’t seem as entertained. “The Ambassador needs rest,” she says from behind the elder Spock, and Jim starts a little because he’d almost forgotten she was there, “It is not beneficial for his health that he be surrounded by so many visitors, least of all humans.”

Jim hides a smirk as McCoy raises an eyebrow in the woman’s direction as if to say, _You got a problem with my species, lady?_

The Ambassador supplies in quiet amusement, “T’Lal has not much experience in interacting with humans. She forgets I spent many years on a ship surrounded by them.” He closes his eyes briefly, though, weariness flooding back to his expression. “However, I must speak with Commander Spock alone. T’Lal.” The young woman walks forward as her name is called out. “I ask that you show the good Doctor and Captain Kirk around the vicinity in the meantime.”

Before either Jim or McCoy can say anything more, T’Lal is ushering them out of the room. Jim turns his head a little in an attempt to meet eyes with Spock, who will not match his gaze. In his rigid stance and almost complete silence throughout the Ambassador’s greeting, he seems almost nervous. As he walks side-by-side with McCoy, Jim can’t help but wish he could stay behind to understand exactly why.

* * *

Spock sits across from the Ambassador by the window. The elder Vulcan is quiet for some time, and Spock need not engage in touch telepathy to feel the range of emotions reverberating from him in the silence. Spock estimates that the Ambassador has been suffering from Bendii Syndrome for at least a few months now, calling back to his strong reaction to seeing McCoy and . . . and Jim.

“The syndrome, as I am sure you are aware, Commander Spock, wears down on the Vulcan consciousness over an extended period of time. Being half-human, I find it is taking its toll at a much faster rate. You know as well as I it is not our way to attempt to avoid what must logically come to pass.” He closes his eyes. “I assume you have drawn a number of possible conclusions as to why I have asked you here.”

Spock nods, and presents his hypothesis in the form of a question: “Have you considered what will become of your _katra?_ Your spirit, after its release from your body? I assume you have made the necessary arrangements.” _Or you would like to pass on the remnants of your conscious mind, your spirit, to me._ It is a process that is not common among his people, but has been done--if a Vulcan wants to preserve his mind, his soul after his body has long deteriorated, he has the ability to do so.

“I would not subject you to receiving my _katra_ , Spock. It would be a burden to you, and furthermore . . .” When the Ambassador opens his eyes again, Spock notices they are moist. “I believe it is time that my _katra_ rejoin with Vulcan sands, if not the very same sands out of which it was made. It has traveled long, and so have I.”

“I see,” replies Spock evenly, folding his hands onto his lap, “Then, may I ask what I can do for you, Ambassador?” He figures the most logical way to approach this situation is to ask the question outright. What could the dying Ambassador possibly want from him?

The response he receives, in a trembling whisper, is not what he expects: “Love him. Love your Jim Kirk unconditionally, fiercely and without hesitation, as I learned to love mine.”

* * *

“Look at all this stuff.” Bones runs a hand along a framed painting on the vast stairwell. Jim shuffles along behind him and T’Lal, observing the plethora of portraits and rare trinkets from across the galaxy. “It’s like a museum in here. Guess you can’t say Vulcans don’t have an appreciaton for art.”

T’Lal supplies, “Ambassador Spock, in the last three point six years, has embarked on many missions outside New Vulcan to promote the prosperity of our growing race. As such he has received many gifts and collected many artifacts from across the galaxy.”

The captain had long stopped listening to T’Lal as he had discovered a small holograph base which had been given its own stand on the second floor hallway. No other decor surrounded it--there were blank walls, which contrasted sharply with the look of the rest of the vicinity. “What’s over here?” he asks.

“I would ask that you step away. The Ambassador considers this hallway part of his private--”

Before she can finish, Jim is walking over to the little white stand, brow arched in curiosity. He half-hears Bones muttering, “dammit, didn’t you hear she said it’s _private_ , and o’ course here you go snoopin’ around . . . ”

But something draws Jim to the tiny square base. Jim can’t count how many of these he has lying around his own quarters--one features a very old, rare holograph of his father that he’d stolen from his mother’s basement. Another is of himself and Christopher Pike. Sure, they hold sentimental value--but why is an entire hall of the Ambassador’s home seemingly devoted to a holographic projector? What could it possibly depict?

“Captain Kirk, I implore you to--”

Jim presses lightly on the edges of the base to activate the holograph, and mutters, “Oh...oh, _shit_...” as the image comes into view.

He sees himself--no, not _Jim_ himself, really--but something like a mirror image that is just slightly altered. This is the James T. Kirk of another universe, and he has an arm slung around Spock’s--no, the _Ambassador_ ’s shoulders.

“Well,” Bones says articulately, “I’ll be damned.”

* * *

“I . . . I do not understand,” Spock stammers, knowing the tips of his ears are at least a shade closer to green than they were a few moments ago.

“Upon greeting the captain today, I received some of his thoughts and feelings when we made contact. You have made great progress together. As I have said many times over, Commander--your life and mine have taken two separate paths, and I should not wish to intervene with what lies ahead for you. What I do not believe has changed, however, is the fact that you and James Kirk are made of destinies intertwined. Together, you will change the galaxy.” He pauses, musing for a moment. “But you are afraid. Both of you. The emotional attachment that has been formed between you is unfamiliar to you both.

All I ask of you, Spock, is that you be willing. Be open. Many things will change over the course of the journey you have chosen to take, but Jim shall remain a constant for you, and you for him. The both of you are more to each other than you fully comprehend at this time, but when you come to realize what it means, all the rest will become apparent to you.”

Spock swallows, staring down at his hands, noticing he is clenching his fists just slightly. He focuses on calming himself, taming his mind . . . “I fail to see how this relates to--”

“You are wary and unsure of your relationship with the Captain.” The Ambassador’s voice cuts through Spock’s try for digression, full of drive and full of feeling. “If there is anything I wish to do in my final days--if I am to impart a word more of advice to you before this life no longer allows me the opportunity--it is to show you that you _must_ not give up.”

His voice cracks at the end of his speech, and if Spock didn’t have such control of his own emotions he thinks he’d feel something like pity for the Ambassador. For a Vulcan to openly express such bare emotion is considered not only taboo, but a reason for mockery.

Any thoughts of pity, though, give way to the fact which Spock can’t deny: the Ambassador, in his set, determined jaw and fierce gaze, does not shy away in embarrassment from his condition. Rather, he seems to openly accept--maybe even embrace, Spock thinks, the fact that is emotions are essentially roaming free in an utter loss of control.

Maybe, Spock can’t help but reflect, the Ambassador had been waiting for a moment such as this one for a very long time, and it had been something only disease could bring.

“I do not ask that you bear my soul, my person, within you. I merely wish that you hold some of my dearest memories so that they may live on, and that they may be useful to you.”

The Ambassador reaches out with a frail right hand. Spock knows that the former’s intent to _show_ him whatever Spock needs to see can only be encompassed within a Vulcan mind meld.

Spock closes his eyes, and suddenly, he is himself in another time, on another starship, in another sky . . . 

_A game of chess. Smiles in exchange for raised eyebrows. Hands clasped together, then separated by a glass wall . . ._

The memories are not too specific. Spock figures the Ambassador intended the meld to be this way--transferring his own full memories to his younger, alternate counterpart may prove disastrous.

The memories are vague. The emotions, however, are not.

_It is there. Deep within us both. It is there, and it has surfaced for me so strongly that I cannot tame it. It is love, Spock. I was afraid of it, too. But I cannot hide from it any longer . . . Love--do you feel it? My Jim, I loved him with all that I am. He was illogical and rash but I loved him. He has been gone for a lifetime, but I love him. You must understand. You must see that you are meant for so much more, together . . . just as we were._

_Do you believe in fate?_

Spock cannot respond. Through closed eyes, tears make their way down his face, drip onto his lap. Longing. Loneliness. Desolation.

Love. It’s what he’s been afraid of, what could jeopardize his career, his relationship to Ji--the Captain-- _Jim. Jim . . . my Jim . . ._

His thoughts are jumbled. The emotions tumble through him, channeled through the tips of the Ambassador’s fingers. It is too much and, in a moment of conscious terror he would otherwise deem irrational, Spock thinks it may destroy him.

* * *

Jim can’t look away from the holograph. McCoy may be engaged in conversation right beside him, but he wouldn’t have the faintest idea what they’re discussing. 

The two figures in the image are standing on the bridge of a very familiar ship, surrounded by very familiar crew members (Chekov and Sulu at the helm, Scotty and Bones in mid-motion toward the turbolift). The only person missing from the holographic photo is Uhura, who Jim figures is responsible for capturing the moment.

Jim stares in awe, but neither man is looking directly back at him. They are not posed; in fact, they seem blissfully unaware of their surroundings. Spock is peering at Jim with his usual unrevealing expression, but Jim can see in the corner of his eyes something like affection.

And the Captain--the other Jim. He is gazing at Spock with unadulterated feeling. Compassion. Happiness. A little exasperation, as if in response to something Spock had said (Jim can certainly relate to that)--but it is overthrown by the patience in the warmth of his eyes and in his smile. He’s _beaming_.

“What . . what is this, T’Lal?” he stammers. The Vulcan woman turns her attention away from McCoy, who’s taken to squinting at the view from behind of his ‘other-self’ with deep concentration.

“It is a holographic image representing a recorded fragment in ti--”

“I know what it _is_ ,” Jim interrupts, a little surprised by the desperation in his own voice, “But how is it even here? This is from the alternate timeline--the Ambassador’s timeline.”

T’Lal nods, looking a bit peeved that her demands to leave the hologram alone had been ignored, but she provides an explanation nonetheless: “The Ambassador’s past is not a subject which he discusses extensively. For the duration of the first year of replenishing our species on this planet, it was not spoken of at all. However, a select few of us in leadership positions and those who are members of the New Council, have been informed of Ambassador Spock’s fateful encounter with the black hole. This hologram was on the Ambassador’s person when the accident occurred.”

“Which means he probably carried it with him everywhere, right?” Jim had almost forgotten Bones’ presence in the room until he piped up with the question.

T’Lal answers, “That would be the logical conclusion to make, Doctor.”

Jim goes back to watching the two men flicker before him, looking as if they are sharing something so intimate that Jim feels as if he’s intruding on the moment. “Does . . . does the Ambassador come up here? Alone?”

“Quite often. If you will excuse me.” T’Lal clasps her hands behind her back. “I must tend to the Ambassador’s supper.” She stalks away, and Jim figures all this talk of _feelings_ must have been putting her off.

He leans against the wall, heart racing. “He keeps this whole hallway open. Just for this memory. I don’t . . . I don’t get it.” Silence fills the empty corridor for a few long moments. Jim is trying to wrap his head around all this--why the Ambassador keeps this so hidden, and, hell, the way Jim’s counterpart is looking at Spock--as if he’s the only thing in the world that matters . . .

“Jim.” Bones places a hand on his shoulder--comforting. “You see it, don’t you? He collects all those things because . . . it’s all he has now. Everything he used to know, all the people . . . it’s all gone. ‘Cept for this one . . . I dunno, remnant. I guess. Shit, that must be . . .” He sighs. “Must be terrifying.”

Bones, as usual, gets right to the heart of the matter. Jim lets his head drop back against the wall, closing his eyes, suddenly feeling very ill. “Jim? You okay?”

“Look at them, Bones!” He stands up straight abruptly, fixing his eyes on the image again, “Jim--that Jim, he . . . he _knows_ his Spock, better than anyone. You can just tell. They look like they fit together. Like they were meant to be by each other’s side, always.” Bones quirks an eyebrow, and Jim sighs. “Look, I know it sounds weird . . . I don’t even recognize half the shit coming outta my mouth right now--”

“--Well, I’m glad somebody said it--”

“--But I feel . . . I feel like I know our Spock that way too. Or I can if I . . . shit, Bones, he does feel. I knew that all along, but it’s just that he feels so much, _all the time_ , and that’s why he’s so adamant about not showing it.” His stream of consciousness is erratic, now, because he _understands_. Through a tiny holographic image in a dark hallway, he understands, better than ever now. “Can you imagine? Having to deal with it all alone because if you don’t you’ll go crazy?”

McCoy’s eyes soften a little. He speaks in what Jim knows is his ‘doctor voice’, smoothly and firmly: “Jim, why don’t you just calm down a second and--”

“I need to get to him.” Jim doesn’t even bother turning off the hologram as he heads toward the stairway with rapid speed. “I need to tell him it all makes sense now. Something tells me that he needs to know, right now . . .” At the edge of his mind, something is burning. He doesn’t know what it is, but all he understands now is that he has to get back down to Spock, as if something outside his own body is controlling his frantic movements to bring him to the person who completes him, like two halves of a perfect picture . . . 

* * *

Spock drops to his knees.

The Ambassador falls back into his chair, heaving shaky breaths. T’Lal is almost instantly at his side. He had not passed onto Spock his _katra_ , but he may as well have.

Spock is spent. He folds in on himself, trying to will the powerful feelings away, but it is no use. The ground below him is cool. He presses his cheek against the stone, closing his eyes. He is alone. Alone, just like the Ambassador, because maybe their timelines hadn’t diverged so much as either had thought--

“Spock?!” There are footsteps around him, coming closer, but he is too weak to so much as lift his head. His name is spoken again, this time louder: “Spock! Oh, God . . .”

_Jim._

Spock finds himself in an embrace made up of familiar arms, and then the captain is helping him to sit up against the wall, and his worn human hands are cupping his face . . . “Spock. Spock, can you hear me? Jesus . . . Bones, is he . . . “

“. . . They mind-melded, Jim. They must have. Spock and the Ambassador . . .”

Jim had come. Jim had known when Spock had needed him most, he’d _felt_ it. Jim can read him better than anyone, understands the _feeling_ behind his eyes even when Spock himself doesn’t.

And Spock feels it now. The meaning behind Jim holding him steady, like an anchor. The significance of their being brought together by Starfleet but staying together by choice. The word thumps loudly in his ears, filling his senses.

“T’hy’la,” he gasps, the first word he has been able to muster in a long time. _Friend. Brother. Lover._ Jim looks at him with a combination of worry and confusion in his blue eyes. There is commotion around him but Spock only sees Jim, only feels the overwhelming emotion accompanied by his presence. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Jim grabs hold of his shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

“Shh . . . you’re okay.” He stops the soothing motion only to tentatively reach out and clasp one of Spock’s hands in his own, an intimate gesture. “I . . . I had to come down and get you, talk to you, fix this between us . . . It’s a long story, but I realized . . .I should’ve been more patient with you. I always should have. I don’t want you to have to be alone, and--”

“Jim,” interjects Spock, trying to keep his voice from wavering, because he _needs_ Jim to see, needs it more than anything, “I know now. We are t’hy’la. We are one--two separate parts, shaped to fit the other.” He can’t tell if he’s slipping in and out of his native Vulcan tongue at this point, so he asks: “Do you understand?”

And Jim smiles then--a genuine one, which Spock has observed means it reaches the crinkles in his eyes. “I really do. I think we both learned some things today.” He leans in so that his nose is brushing against Spock’s, and eliminates any remaining distance between them with a kiss. Almost instantly, Spock feels himself relax, leaning into Jim, no longer afraid.

Doctor McCoy calls out from somewhere behind them, incredulously and full of relief, “What the hell did you do to them?”

Then, the Ambassador’s weakened, but triumphant-sounding voice from his chair: “I recall that the Earth saying goes: all they needed was ‘a little push’.’”

“Jesus . . . come on, you two; I need to give Spock a once-over with the tricorder to make sure--are you even _listening_ to me? S’like I’m talking to a goddamn wall here.”

Jim laughs in the middle of pressing kisses to Spock’s temple; the rumble of it fills Spock’s very core. “Give us a second, Bones.”

“--And while I’m at it, what’s that word mean that you keep saying, Spock? Thigh-ha? Or . . . whatever?”

Spock rests his forehead against Kirk’s, and does not answer. The Ambassador remains quiet as well--probably turned back to his window, lost in memories. Jim understands the meaning perfectly, he knows, and this is all that matters.

It is T’Lal who finally speaks up, “ _T’hy’la_ , Doctor. I believe the closest English equivalent is, ‘soul mate.’”

“Well, shit, anyone coulda told ‘em that.”

Spock rises, and Jim with him, their hands still locked together. They turn to find the Ambassador standing beside his chair and looking on with an expression of unadulterated fondness. The illness from which he suffers will not subside, only worsen. And yet the Ambassador appears, oddly enough, as if there were a new kind of glow to him.

Doctor McCoy make his way over to Spock’s counterpart, and places a hand on his arm. “Are you all right, Ambassador?”

It’s a question Spock himself doesn’t know if he’s ever learned how to answer, having been raised Vulcan. And yet he believes the Ambassador when he replies: “I am well, Doctor, thank you. I am quite well.”

* * *

When Ambassador S’chn Tgai Spock closes his eyes, his face is wet. At his bedside is his favorite little hologram blaring in the darkness, that a certain captain had placed next to him upon his departure a few days prior.

He cannot see it now. Yet, for the first time in decades, he no longer requires to.

Spock has spent most of these past few years grappling with the fact that here, in this universe, he is the only fragment of what was. He recognizes now that this is no longer true.

In this dimension there is a brilliant captain of a starship and his Vulcan first officer who will build new ground on that fragment. They will carry on, and, regardless of where his _katra_ goes after this life, Spock knows he is a part of both of them now, and the history they will make.

_Jim. Jim, I am ready._

He waits in the pitch black, waits for what he knows is coming because he has felt it in the very core of him for many days now . . .

Spock suddenly feels as though he’s floating--he knows he is not part of the physical world he closed his eyes to anymore. He wonders how high he’ll fall. If he’ll ever stop . . .

But then there’s the voice he’s ached to hear for decades, grounding him, as always:

_“Hello, t’hy’la. What took you so long?”_

Before Spock now is James T. Kirk-- _his_ Jim, with the golden eyes and the mischievous youth that never escaped his smile, and he is beautiful. _”Before you answer--I know. You had to make sure the two of them would be all right, didn’t you? You always did care much more than you ever let on, Mister Spock.”_ He winks. Spock lets himself smile, and it feels . . . It feels.

It feels wonderful.

_“I have missed you, Jim.”_ Nothing else needs to be said. Their bond speaks for itself.

There’s a light up ahead. Jim holds out his hand, and Spock takes it without hesitation. They twine their fingers, and walk together to their next adventure.


End file.
